I pull up at El Cajon Blvd and Ohio Street and there is a serious line wrapped around the Roberto’s. It’s hands down the best mexican food in town. Beans are salty and delicious, there are vegetables in the rice…. nothing taste like bland lard. Yum. Plus you don’t have to go inside a hot and greasy hole-in-the-wall restaurant with some arcade machine in the corner and a quarter “guess your weight” reader. Drive Thru. AWESOME!
So while I’m hanging out on the side walk waiting, I start getting all melancholy. It doesn’t help that I’m listening to like Kill Me Now Owls or whatever. (Actually the band is Owl City and they are really peppy.) So maybe it’s just me. Basically, I’ve ruined my life. So maybe I wasn’t happy before and that is why all of this was allowed to happen, but I didn’t KNOW that I was unhappy. I actually thought I was LUCKY to be where I was: at home with my boys, spending every day outside in the sun on a swing with a laptop… Sigh. Maybe it’s because I had such a shitty previous 5 years that everything was better than being a down and out starving grad student. I don’t know. I’m like Cypher from the Matrix. Why didn’t I just take the blue pill? Now I’m stuck in the gloomy ass matrix eating slop-amino-soup but I don’t have a Trinity to like be my bad ass back-up lover in leather.
The line moves up an inch, but I’m not close enough to the screen to order. So I start thinking back on other times I have felt this way (like with John from the bank or with Chris G from times long long ago). Okay, it sucked. I wanted to die for a few days, but I sucked it up and got over it. And my life isn’t shit not having them in it. So cool. Right? Easy. Should be. But I have to get over someone who I know felt the same way I did – which is like… a whole new can of beans because the last two people who felt that way about me, one stayed with me for 5 years and the other one married me. So, okay. But let’s say that we get over it because I’m a super-Sara-bad ass. (I’m not, but lets pretend.) I stomp down all these feelings and (very real) thoughts deep down, like a trash compactor and then I am “healed.” But wait, there’s more!! Now I have to re fall in love. So I have to go back in the trash can like an old Chinese lady looking for cans, find the other love, wash it off, stain treat it and see if it’s wearable or if I just destroyed it forever. I guess it can be done. Doctors make money of getting it done, right?
Sigh. Yeah, I’ll take a quesadilla with rice and beans… um, and a can of Pepsi.